White Lies
"It's just a fact," said Drew, who was beginning to regret having chosen a steakhouse as the place to celebrate his birthday dinner; in truth, he'd mostly chosen it as a bluff, to pick an arbitrarily expensive thing and see if Bill would go through with it. As he poked single-handedly at the round of rare beef in front of him, his clumsiness rendering his serrated steak knife more of a bludgeoning weapon than a cutting tool, he renewed his resolve never to play poker with the man. "Everybody knows Chinese guys have small dicks."
Bill -- who looked mostly bemused by Drew's struggles, and who had as yet not even made an offer of assistance -- dragged another bite of his pecan-crusted salmon through the thin brown sauce in which it had so recently learned to swim. "Oh, everybody knows this, do they?"
Momentarily defeated, Drew decided mashed potatoes were an easier goal, and began dumping salt on them. "I'm just saying, I've sucked an above-average number of Asian guys' dicks, and they tend to be below average in size." He paused, frowned, remembered his preservation instincts. "Present company excluded."
"Are you sure you weren't just measuring them against your heroin-fueled cock dreams?" Bill asked, a little smile pricking at the right corner of his mouth.
"I said, present company excluded. No need to make this personal." Drew took a bite of his potatoes, which were salty enough to make his eyes water. "Look, could you just--" He placed his fork and knife at the side of the plate and pushed it across the table to Bill, bunching up the white tablecloth in its wake. "Could you just help me with this, or something?"
Apparently deciding that this gave him permission to sigh and roll his eyes, Bill did just that as he took Drew's utensils in hand and began cutting the steak into single bites with brisk, efficient strokes. "Everybody also knows amputees should order the soup."
"I take it back. Your dick is small." Drew leaned back in his chair and tried to fold his arms across his chest, before remembering that the gesture wasn't nearly so effective when it was lopsided. Instead, he mustered his best glower.
"Well, I hope you got a good look at it last time, because you'll never see it again." His task completed, Bill shifted the plate back in front of Drew. "There, it's bleeding all over the place, do something about that."
Drew gathered the fork in his good hand, stabbing at the bloodiest cube of them all, pleased at the way the red ooze tainted the white edge of the mashed potatoes. "That's just the kind of thing I'd expect to hear from a Chinese guy with a small dick."
Though he hadn't been paying attention, he managed to time making the comment just as Bill took a drink of the wine he'd ordered them to share, and had the wicked satisfaction of watching Bill snort part of an expensive bottle of merlot up his nose. "What?" Bill sputtered, wiping at his face with his napkin and trying to hide the way his shoulders shuddered with the effort of holding laughter down.
"You heard me," Drew smirked, taking a bite.
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